


I Love The Weather In Seattle (But I love You More)

by The_Wonderful_Jinx



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 07:15:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5530673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wonderful_Jinx/pseuds/The_Wonderful_Jinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At this point of their odd relationship -one that defied all neat and tidy categorization- Alex and Richard didn’t need words to communicate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Love The Weather In Seattle (But I love You More)

_Get me out of here_ , his blue eyes screamed when their eyes met. Physically, they were on opposite ends of the room, separated by a tempest of shouting interns and assistants and coins rolling on the floor. A fight had erupted between them- something about a bet over a card game gone sour- and poor Nic was in the middle of the pit, trying to break it up with little success. But mentally, on the other hand, they were almost in sync. At this point of their odd relationship -one that defied all neat and tidy categorization- Alex and Richard didn’t need words to communicate. Which came in handy in the situation they were in: a house full of Christmas decorations, coworkers dancing, taking shots, and merrily slurring along to the tried and true seasonal songs on the radio (dial turned all the way up, of course), and the smell of Chinese takeout, roast ham, and pastries clashing with one another. To Alex, just another holiday party, the same old same old. To Strand, an incoming headache that not even the strongest of pills could cure. 

She tilted her head, motioning to the kitchen in the back. _Get your coat._ _Meet me in five minutes._

Just before she made her way to the kitchen, she could see the stress melt in his posture away as he ducked into the front hall, just barely avoiding a falling intern who crashed onto the spot he was standing seconds ago.

Six minutes passed, and Strand came into the kitchen, sporting a small bruise on the corner of his lip. His mouth was set in a tight scowl and the chilly look in his eyes could freeze hell over. _Interns._

She sighed, brushing her thumb gently over the bruise. He winced. _Sorry, I’ll make it up to you._

The kitchen was empty except for the the finance people, who more worried over the ham and the inevitable nightmare of left-over portioning to the ravenous interns than the amorous display of affection between their bosses. They slipped out into the cold, Seattle night unnoticed and undisturbed, hand in hand. 

It was snowing lightly. It squelched underneath their feet as they traversed carefully through party stragglers and other wanderers. It was the wet, slushy kind that would freeze over and cause all sorts of trouble for the morning commute if the trucks didn’t double the usage of salt and sand or would get packed with dirt and collect in a dirty,dingy pile on the sidewalk. The wind picked up. They held unto the other’s hand tightly to fend off the cold, fingers interlaced and digging into skin. 

Their shoulders brushed constantly, he was trying to avoid the puddles and deep parts of the congealed slush. From the corner of her eye, she saw him shiver. Despite the dark, she could see the scowl clear as day as coffee signs flickered off. _Damnit, I forgot this coat isn’t waterproof. Where’s an open coffee shop when you need one?_

She wrapped an arm around his waist, bringing him and his warmth closer to her.  _Patience, we’re nearly there._

“There” in question was one of the few late night places in the city, Larkspur was it’s name. Alex found it years ago, kept it a secret from her coworkers, and brought Strand into her little secret when she felt the time was right. It was famous for comfortable seats, delicious coffee, and most importantly of all, the purple neon sign depicting the titular flower. It was a beacon in the gloomy night for wanderers such as themselves trying to escape the noisy holiday parties or the lonesome apartment dwellers. 

When they turned the corner, the signature purple sign flicked on as if they willed it by magic. (The thought made Alex smile, oh how Strand would love to argue that if he could read her thoughts.) The glow dominated the street, summoning its regulars with the promise of heat, food, and drink like a siren song. They rushed in with the others who had gathered around the the stained glass door. 

They took the table near the entrance, giving them a view of the street. Alex liked it because it gave her an oppurtunity to people watch. Strand liked it because she liked it. Alex slid into the seat with the wall at her back. He took the one across from her even though he knew he would get hit by the draft that came whenever someone opened the door. If it meant she was more comfortable, then risking a cold back throughout the evening was worth it. 

They had been here for so long the servers didn’t even have to bother taking down an order. As soon as they were spotted, the waitress ducked into the kitchen and made their drinks. Black tea with no sugar and decaf coffee with sugar and milk for “Glasses and Radio Host” respectively (the nicknames the staff used for them. They never bothered learning their real names for any of their night-owl customers). With practiced precision, she took the drinks out to their table, dodging the incoming customers and fellow coworkers, and placed the beverages in front of their drinkers. Alex gave her a twenty, which the waitress pocketed with a silent smile before heading to the next table. The drinks weren’t pricey (7 dollars in total for the both of them), but she always gave extra money for those who worked late in the night and on holidays as a practice, a habit she picked up from her family, and the reason the waitstaff liked her so much (generous tippers got first priority). 

Their hands were intertwined as they drank, resting on the table and it’s decorative table cloth depicting a flower garden. They drank in comfortable silence, communicating in eye movements and sighs. It was a language all to themselves, none not even the ever watchful waiters could decipher. They were split on whether it was adorable, fascinating, or outright creepy on their ability to communicate without words. They could never agree and opinions changed every time they came in. No doubt, they still found the couple and their odd talent a marvel to watch (and the nice tip didn’t hurt either).

A straggler came in, followed by another blast of cold air that nearly froze Strand to the core. His grasp tightened around her hand. She smirked, her dark eyes glimmering in the dull lighting of the cafe. _I thought you liked the weather in Seattle?_

Strand smiled. He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her pale knuckles. He could see the tiny little cracks on her skin. _I love the weather. But I love you more._

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays my fellow TBTP fans! I hope you enjoyed reading this. If there are any errors/glaringly OOCness, please let me know!


End file.
